


The Bridge (Stronger Than Time)

by treble_tone_stark



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Charles Has Issues, Erik is a Sweetheart, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Hank Being Awesome, M/M, Raven and Charles are actual siblings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, kate and leopold au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treble_tone_stark/pseuds/treble_tone_stark
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr was a duke and inventor from 1876. Or rather, he still is. Charles Xavier is a cynical marketing researcher in modern times. Hank McCoy has just made a discovery that allows the possibility for the two to meet- only- that wasn't the plan and nobody could have ever expected the two to be soulmates.Life sure can be odd....AU based on the plot of the movie "Kate and Leopold," with a soulmate twist.





	The Bridge (Stronger Than Time)

* * *

  **April 28, 1876.**

* * *

 

The many pairs of eyes and their accompanying giggles did not draw Erik’s eyes away from his sketching. He was putting the finishing touches on the schematic of what, at least he believed, would be he next step toward advancement in technology. An elevator.  
  
It elevated its passengers from one floor to the next, and the “-or” just seemed to be the popular ending for inventions.  
  
Aside from his dedication to finishing what he started, Erik was simply not in the mood for mingling with any more women today, or tomorrow. The day prior, Erik had had a conversation with his more than austere uncle that had left a bitter taste in his mouth. The topics of their conversation had included the monarchy, name, and marriage - that of which was to happen as soon as humanly possible, ever since Erik’s 30th birthday.  
  
The one thing that had eluded their talk, however, was the most important: **C.X.**  
  
Everyone knew, whether or not they decided to believe in it strongly, that the initials on one’s wrist matched that of one’s true mate.  
  
Their soul mate.  
  
Erik was a believer in this, not simply because he enjoyed dreams, but because he had witnessed many a friend (and family) fall into the clutches of fate. All had married within weeks or even days of meeting their one— the longest gap was a month. Perhaps the initials alone seemingly left too much to mystery, but they did more than just adorn skin... they would make themselves known before disappearing completely.  
  
Of course, Erik had no experience with what exactly ‘making known’ meant or felt like, as it was apparently different for each person, but he nonetheless would wait as long as it took in order to find out.  
  
What did ultimately pull Erik’s eyes from his papers (and his focus from his heart) was a strange brightness that tickled the peripherals of his eyes.  
  
Stranger so was the fact the flicker seemed not bother anyone else.  
  
When he turned he immediately spotted a man that stood out from the rest, scribbling into a small pocket book and putting away a small contraption that Erik assumed was the source of the light. The man also wore spectacles, which, instead of the standard round wire frames, were rectangular.  
  
Something was off about the man, indeed, even before they made eye contact and the stranger quickly turned away to leave. The gesture only spiked the young duke’s curiosity and he found his body pointing that direction.  
  
For an all but momentary second, Erik thought this might be it. Pausing to collect himself, he decided it was not. He felt no unfamiliar sensations, and upon checking, saw his C.X. was still present in its dark, elegant ink. Still, he could not deny something was pulling him— pushing him— to follow.  
  
But fate was rather cruel today.  
  
As soon as Erik broke through a small triad of women in his path, a pair manning a large, box camera blocked him, the miniature explosion from the powder throwing him off balance and into a final body that sent his papers to the floor.  
  
Kneeling and frantically grasping at his sketches and with far less care than desired, he was still not fast enough to catch the fleeing silhouette before it had vanished.  
  
The few voices of kind gents trying to assist him brought him back to what was in front of his eyes, and he blinked... hard.  
  
Perhaps that man had been a figment of his imagination. Perhaps that contraption he hid away was just divine intervention giving him a physical look at what he was supposed to invent someday.  
  
And perhaps that man was real and would’ve led him to something even better.  
  
Erik was disappointed knowing he’d not get an answer, so he allowed the gentlemen surrounding him to hoist him up to his proper stance.  
  
“Thank you. Excuse me,” He dismissed himself from the crowd in prompt fashion, realizing only now that he had to be back home soon in order to get ready for the party set for the night- as much as he wished he didn’t have to go.  
  
...  
  
Arriving at the manor, Erik’s uncle gave him less than a cursory glance before brushing past and barking something about ‘getting the boy ready.’ Assistants flooded into the room in moments and were soon gently beckoning Erik upstairs to be dressed.  
  
It was a routine enough action that Erik had long since become numb to hands tugging away whatever casual clothing (which was still more fashionable than the average man’s) in order to adorn him with his proper outing attire. Said coat was dark blue, intricate gold lining around the collar down the center linings, draped over creme colored vest, white tie, and dress shirt. The trousers matched the vest, and the leather boots were a striking contrast in their black.  
  
A cough came from the doorway, just after the assistants had shuffled out.  
  
“Uncle.”  
  
“Erik.”  
  
A chill in the air, even when the older man stepped forward with as warm as a smile as he could muster, the slight twitch of his lips matching the intensity of the brisk pat he gave his nephew’s shoulder.  
  
“Tonight is the night,” he slapped another hand onto Erik’s other shoulder, squeezing them as they looked into the mirror. “Tonight is your night.”  
  
Erik rose a brow, side eyeing the latter.  
  
“I want you to choose your partner tonight, at the party. The one you’ll marry.”  
  
Erik sucked in a breath and held it as he patiently pushed the hands from his shoulders.  
  
“I’d gladly do so, if so allowed.”  
  
“I am allowing you.”  
  
“It’s not you I seek permission from,” Erik gave a small rub to his wrist before he slicked his hair back with both hands.  
  
“Not everyone finds their’s, Erik. There’s nothing wrong with taking your life into your own hands.”  
  
Huffing out and strutting to the door, a hand already on the knob, Erik stared across at the last of his family. He knew it was in good spirit, what his Uncle Shaw wanted, but it wasn’t good enough.  
  
“You did.”  
  
The elder had lost his soul mate, too soon, but that didn’t change the fact he had no marks on his skin, and had been happy once.  
  
So Erik left for the party downstairs, pity and resolve accompanying him on his journey.  
  
...  
  
At the party there were many suitors, but the one lady that his uncle particularly wanted Erik to have was a miss January Jones. She was the American daughter of one of neighboring town’s wealthiest men, and was more than a match to Erik’s status as a duke.  
  
Beautiful, with curled blonde hair tucked gracefully into a bun, the bangs left to frame her face. Her dress was bold, silver linings over a pale blue, and she walked as if she were already set in her way. The two of them danced, and she was charming, not quite so pious as she might’ve appeared, but Erik couldn’t take his eyes away from her gold bracelet.  
  
It lay over a small couple of letters, dark as Erik’s own.  
  
So clear that she, too, had not found her mate; but unlike Erik, she had decided she didn’t need to.  
  
When the song ended and the crowded room started their customary clapping toward the musicians, Erik kissed January’s hand.  
  
“I’m going to get a drink. What would the lady like?”  
  
“Whatever you’ll have.”  
  
Erik’s smile satisfied her, but he felt a tightness behind his clenched teeth. He nodded his head before slinking away to the side tables, in which, he found something other than a champagne glass that made his head fuzzy.  
  
It was the tall man from the plaza, rectangular glasses still in tact, pocketbook just shutting where he stood a few feet away, oblivious to Erik’s eyes.  
  
This time, Erik let his sights wander just away, so that the spectacled male wouldn’t tuck his tail and run. Keeping a tab on the figure from around the corner, the young duke waited until the man began moving to the stairs before beginning his pursuit.  
  
The drinks were left on the table cloth, Erik quickly forgetting the woman he danced with, as he slowly crept up the stairs, noting that every once and awhile the man with the glasses would take the contraption from before out and press it with one finger, a tiny click sounding. In keeping his safe distance, he briefly lost sight of the other, only to spot him in the study, rifling through one of his notebooks and using his contraption on each of the pages he read over.  
  
  
Erik stayed calm, even with a million questions in his head, and stepped into the doorway. As suspicious as the fellow was, he felt no danger.  
  
“...who are you?”  
  
The slender stranger jumped about an inch in the air, slapping the book closed and stumbled behind the desk.  
  
Erik came closer, blinking at the device still clutched close to his target’s chest.  
  
For once, he actually heard the latter’s voice, though it wasn’t quite a word but more a stammer and a flustered reaction to hitting a few books off the shelf behind him, but Erik cared not for getting a name the moment the person began to bolt.  
  
Pleasantries left the building as Erik made chase, brushing past alarmed party-goers as he stayed locked into the tall figure.  
  
The streets were dim this time of night, the slight sprinkles of rain began following the two men, all the way from the manor to the city bridge, still in construction. The rain soon became the only thing keeping their footsteps from being heard by each other, but it wasn’t long before Erik was forced to break the silence; the man had seen him when he glanced back and only quickened his feet as he jumped onto the ladder scaling the pillar of the bridge.  
  
What on earth was he doing?  
  
“Stop!” Erik exclaimed, still continuing to mirror each and everyone of the other’s movements completely against any inkling of common sense. The rain was heavy now, some getting in his eyes as he gripped tightly to each rung of the ladder, squinting up at the shuffling boots ahead of him.  
  
The boards of the construction work were loud under their steps as they ran to and fro, the latter obviously trying to lose him and... going to nowhere in particular. Dear god.  
  
“Sir..! Stop!” Erik tried again, but the man heaved his body over a stack of planks and onto a precariously positioned platform dangling over the waters below. The only way forward was down, and the man wasn’t stopping.  
  
In a last ditch effort to keep Erik from sticking behind him, the other removed the plank connecting the platform he stood on to the rest of the bridge, but Erik would have rather died himself before simply watching a man jump to his death. Grabbing the rope which hung from some other place on the structure, Erik used it and his own momentum to swing across the short gap separating him and the other man without so much as a second thought.  
  
Upon landing successfully, the entire platform rocked, and ultimately bent forward so that Erik slipped forward just in time to catch the other man’s hand before he completely jumped off. Erik strained as his free hand held onto the fraying rope holding the platform up, and held tighter to the hand of the person dangling completely over nothing.  
  
“Let go!” The man yelled, the crack in his voice due to trying to overpower the sound of rain.  
  
“I can’t!” Erik returned, the heels of his boots rubbing against the harsh wood.  
  
“It’s okay! Just let me go!” The man yelled again, rain obscuring his glasses. More so, he began slapping at Erik’s hand, his blows even weaker than expected in such a difficult position.  
  
Erik couldn’t believe how suicidal this one was.  
  
Though Erik never dreamed of letting go, the rope he was clinging to had other plans— and snapping just as Erik managed to squint down at his new acquaintance’s wrist (which initials were indeed, not E.L.) was that splendid plan. With a yell and a loud crack of rope behind him, Erik plummeted downward with the man who wanted to.  
  
...  
...  
...

* * *

**April 28, 2001.**

* * *

  
Hank McCoy was elated, staring down at the blurry form of Erik Lehnsherr, his great, great, great grandfather laying unconscious. He was currently wiping his glasses off on the fabric of his coat, but he knew he didn’t have much time to celebrate what had just happened.  
  
He had just jumped back and forth from the 19th century into the present.  
  
Okay. Big deal. But still no time to be celebrating with them both lying on he side of the road just a few blocks from the Brooklyn bridge, still soaked with rain on a sunny day.  
  
It was a long, awkward trek from there back to the apartment building, but thankfully, he was able to brush off any odd looks with the excuse that he and his friend had had a long night out after... performing in a theater. The clothes were still a problem, but most New Yorkers didn’t actually care what the others did, or were doing, anyway.  
  
After opening the door to his apartment, Hank all but threw the heavy body of his living artifact from the past onto his couch in order to more easily remove his wet coat and toss it onto the sink to be taken to the laundromat later. His dog, Beast, continued to bark loudly from behind the doggy gate blocking him in the kitchen. Hank shushed him and traveled back across the room to take off Erik’s boots and hopefully keep the water surely gathered in there from making the older man sick.  
  
Well. He wasn’t really older than him at the moment, just, from a few generations prior.  
  
Hank chuckled humorlessly to himself, breathing hard as he took a break and simply stood in the center of the room, hands on his hips.  
  
“This is bad.” He mumbled, cleaning his glasses again in what was a force of habit, though his mouth was stuck in an empty smile. Beast agreed with another rough bark.  
  
There was a ring from the phone, and Hank cursed himself for being so jittery. He grabbed it with a certain dread that suggested he had a feeling who his early morning called might be.  
  
Eyes shut, Hank pressed the receiver to his ear.  
  
“Hello—?”  
  
_“Are you kidding me, Hank?”_  
  
A tired, biting English accent hissed at him, and if Hank didn’t know better, he would’ve hung up.  
  
“It’s 1 in the morning.” The response came warily while he looked back at Erik’s slumped body, lying long ways over his entire couch, feet hanging off a bit due to his height.  
  
_“Yeah, and? You know I work late, and don’t pretend you were sleeping or something because I just went up the fire escape and saw you with someone.”_  
  
Hank gulped, wondering when exactly that was during his undressing the duke.  
  
The voice on the other side of the line continued when Hank stayed silent.  
  
_“You walk very loud for how skinny you still are.”_  
  
Ouch. Alright.  
  
“Listen, I can’t talk right now, Charles.”  
  
_“Listen, I don’t care who it is you’re gonna lay tonight -“_ A huff and a nearly audible roll of eyes. _“- rather, today, but I just hope you do it quieter than you were just stomping around up there.”_  
  
Charles lived in the room just below him.  
  
Hank pressed his forefinger and thumb against his temples, leaning his weight onto the desk by the door.  
  
“You know, if you have a noise complaint you can take that down to the landlord.” Charles always hated the landlord. “And also, I’m not getting laid! And also, I’m pretty sure you’re aware we’re not dating... anymore.” Strong words coming from a usually timid man; it was a mix of adrenaline and confidence in talking to someone he’d known for a long while.  
  
_“Yes. I’m cognizant of all those things and more, Hanky. We burned that bridge after a week, and for the most part I’ve been satisfied with our friendship since then— but I’d also rather like it if you didn’t completely throw away your dignity by starting to turn into one of those guys that sleep with any person that gives you sweet eyes.”_  
  
Hank had continued to move about while Charles rambled, pinching a history book on his shelf.  
  
“You’re having a wonderful night, I can see,” Yanking the book from the shelf and flipping open to the dog-eared page holding information about the very man lying on his couch, Hank tucked the phone in the crook between his neck and shoulder. “Something big is happening, okay? I found something big.”  
  
_“You don’t have to brag about the man’s package now—“_ The snide tone made Hank blush momentarily, but he brushed it off, patting the page with his free hand as he grabbed the phone again.  
  
“Charles, seriously. I found what I’ve been searching for all this time. I found... a portal.”  
  
_“Wow, I never took you to be such a romantic. Is the man that special?”_  
  
“No! I mean, well yes, the man is special. But not because he’s my soul mate or anything—“  
  
An audible scoff from the man below.  
  
Hank continued, his excitement making his words airy. “He’s my great, great grandfather. I found a freaking portal to 1876, today. I jumped off the Brooklyn bridge to get there and jumped off the unfinished bridge to get back and he... he followed me, Charles.”  
  
Silence.  
  
_“...Just say ‘fucking’, already, you don’t have to keep acting like your mum is going to scold you from across the country. But I wish she was here so she could smack you and tell you to stop with the lies, because I’m nowhere near drunk enough to believe that.”_  
  
This was going nowhere fast, and honestly, if all went according to plan, his whole mixup would be over in no time. Charles needn’t even meet Erik, and that would be best.  
  
“Fine. Let’s just say he’s a hacker I met in Philadelphia, he’s in town for this weekend’s tech convention, and last night he got plenty drunk enough to believe my story so now he’s crashing at my place. That good enough for you? I need to go, Goodnight.”  
  
Maybe the way he rushed was rude, and made him feel terrible, but Hank knew his priorities when it came down to it.  
  
_“Yeah. Sure. Night–“_ The last phrase was hardly heard before being replaced by the sound of Charles hanging up.  
  
Hank sighed, putting the phone back on the wall and collecting a few more books and documents to take with him to the love seat near the couch. He planned to review his family history until he fell fast asleep– so he did.  
  
...  
  
  
All Erik recalled when he woke up was a lucid dream that he had been pushed - or pulled - off the town’s unfinished bridge, thanks to an odd man... that had been poking around his schematics.  
  
And his head felt heavy.  
  
Opening his eyes, he groaned softly at the sunlight seeping through his curtains and stabbing at his eyes— only, when he looked up toward them he realized they were not his curtains.  
  
And this was not his room nor any place like he’d ever seen before. It was quite... ugly, with plain walls, tables and shelving with piles of papers and books, a gigantic camera on one of the shorter tables, and a weird fence blocking a large dog on the other side of it.  
  
Erik shook his head and sat up groggily, hands steadying his body on the cushions of the seat; something flat and cold touched his hand then, and suddenly the gigantic camera sparked and colorful photographs began quickly switching on its lens.  
  
It was unlike how a camera should act, and the pictures seemed to be moving. And making noise. It sounded like there were people talking behind it.  
  
In his confusion, Erik sat up straighter, hands readjusting and once more accidentally pressing against another contraption on the couch with him.  
  
It did not stop the moving pictures or the voices, but it did cause a blaring, hellish noise to begin ringing in his ears from the direction of black boxes in the rooms corner. It was horrible, and frightening, so Erik got to his feet and stumbled backwards, the dog’s barking adding to the chaos.  
  
“What in God’s name is that—?” Erik rumbled, putting hands over his ears as the sounds continued.  
  
A hand shook his shoulder then, and he saw the very man that had caused his fall, looking nearly as shaken as Erik felt.  
  
“I-It’s okay! It’s okay! I’m–“ Hank left his side to gather the devices Erik had touched just before and after pressing some buttons the camera went blank and the noises from the boxes stopped. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Hank was panting, having just woken up to the distress of Erik’s morning.  
  
The duke frowned, backing away while surveying his surroundings with greater caution than before.  
  
“Answer me this time, sir! Who are you? What is this place?”  
  
Hank swallowed, tossing his remotes aside, trying his best to speak reassuringly.  
  
“My name is Hank. McCoy. This is New York City.”  
  
The look in Erik’s eyes didn’t change, which actually relieved Hank that he didn’t just change history. It did make sense that that name would be unfamiliar still.  
  
“...If it’s ransom you want, there’s no use.” Erik had long since stared out the unrecognized windows out at buildings that certainly did not resemble the city he’d been in prior to knocking out. “My uncle won’t pay you a cent. He’s already hoping I get out of his life somehow.”  
  
Hank blew out a puff of air, clearly searching his brain for what to properly say.  
  
The truth was all he could think of.  
  
“You’re in the year 2001. After we jumped off the Brooklyn bridge,” While Hank talked, Erik did recall suddenly that that was the name of the unfinished bridge that they had announced in the square. “You and I, we traveled through time. You weren’t supposed to go with me— but I promise I’ll get you back.”  
  
Erik’s eyes were darting to and fro in a frenzy and he grabbed his coat, which he now saw was lying on the back of the couch he’d woken up on.  
  
“Is that so? You expect me to believe that we’re in some... rift in time? That this isn’t some dream I have yet to wake up from?” Erik coughed, pulling his arms through his coat sleeves and over adjusting the collar as he glared at ‘Hank.’  
  
“And you expect me to believe that this is New York City?” Erik added incredulously, pointing behind him and hearing distant, unexplainable honking and ruckus from far below.  
  
Hank knew this would happen, but he put his hands up in defense, like talking to a yet untamed animal.  
  
“This _is_ New York City, and as crazy as it sounds— if you wanna get back home you need to trust me,”  
  
Erik wasn’t having it, too flustered.  
  
“That is NOT New York City—!”  
  
“I’m afraid it truly is, my friend.”  
  
That last voice had not been Hank’s nor Erik’s.  
  
When both turned sharply to the fire escape window, a new addition to the madness was standing there, hands propped on either side of the open window and head tilted up at them with unamused, yet still bright, blue eyes.  
  
Not only was Erik somewhat offended at this man addressing him as an ally, he suddenly was too stunned to conjure a response because of a sharp pain in his head— and chest— which seemed to stem further into his veins.  
  
It was different than the heaviness in his temples warranted from waking up too suddenly or akin to having too many alcoholic beverages; and though his instinct was to describe it as a pain, it didn’t actually hurt all too much.  
  
Without noticing, he had winced and clutched onto himself when the wave had coursed through him— clutched onto his wrist a second— before shaking the feeling away. It was gone as soon as it had come.  
  
The shorter man at the window rubbed his head of chestnut colored hair and buried his other hand into his over large trousers (sweatpants), squeezing his eyes closed before squinting right past Erik and at Hank.  
  
“Hey, no, you can’t just burst in here whenever you want..!” Hank blurted, rushing around Erik to try and shoo Charles away.  
  
Charles remained unmoved, shifting his attention to Erik and more than shamelessly looking the duke’s form from head to toe.  
  
Whether it was instinct or the difference in their clothing, it didn’t matter, Erik was shocked that his eyes did basically the same in return.  
  
“So Mr. Hacker, you think you could help me stop getting so many spam emails or—?” A coy smile was on the intruder now, and Erik pondered why the man almost looked like he was wearing a pale pink lipstick, with lips redder than the average man’s.  
  
Hank came between his sights, pushing the stranger back enough so that he wasn’t in the window frame any longer.  
  
“Don’t talk to him, he’s supposed to remain... unknow — uh — undercover..!”  
  
“I’m not the damn feds, Hank, I was just–“  
  
“I’ll talk to you later, Charles, now please go!”  
  
Hank pulled the window shut and Charles was left on the other side in protest, even when the shutter blinds closed and Hank had spun back around.  
  
Charles.  
  
Erik remembered repeating the name in his head to remember it more than was typical, and couldn’t ignore the unbearable itch that raked over his right arm just after the man had left.  
  
It couldn’t be.  
  
After satiating the itch, Erik fixed the cuff of his jacket again, and saw his C.X. was still blatantly ogling back at him.  
  
Yes, it couldn’t be. He’d met plenty of others with C names and as for this morning, he’d certainly taken quite the... tumble to shake his senses.  
  
Even so, disappointment weighed deep in his heart.  
  
He had no time to gloat with Hank shuffling back and forth, and now advancing toward him from where Erik had stepped closer to the door.  
  
“- If this isn’t a kidnapping, then give me a reason why you cannot let others see me and cannot let me leave, Mr. McCoy.”  
  
“You don’t belong here, Erik.” Hank hovered his hands over said man’s shoulders but didn’t actually grab him.  
  
“Then let me leave and arrange me transportation back to the manor!”  
  
Hank closed his hands and dropped them to his sides in defeat, speaking slower now.  
  
“I... can’t. I said I would get you back home but I need a little time first. And I can’t just let you wreak havok on the city freely because... well it’s different than you’ve seen! And look at you!”  
  
Hank made overdramatic motion toward’s the latter’s attire.  
  
“I know this is New York, but you look like you just came from the park Renaissance Fair or something! And that was months ago..!”  
  
Erik furrowed his brows deeply, lookin down at himself, before narrowing his eyes at Hank’s own, less than poor choice of fashion. It was a white shirt without buttons and with sleeves that only went down to his biceps, with tan pants that only rolled down to his knees. How was this man even affording a private home?  
  
Hank was pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers now, subsequently pushing his glasses up at his forehead, thinking harder than could’ve been healthy.  
  
The dog barked again.  
  
“Beast! Quiet..!” Hank groaned, then breathed out methodically. He nodded to himself and patted himself on the back, then was ready to speak again.  
  
“Okay. Like I said, I can get you back but you _need_ to _trust_ me.” He locked eyes with his long-ago relative and prayed to god somehow that connection could gain trust, at least long enough. “And please stay here and don’t let _anyone_ in the apartment if I leave.”  
  
Erik found himself nodding, albeit barely.  
  
It was good enough. Hank then occupied himself with subduing his pet— who was currently trying to squeeze himself underneath the gate barricading him in the kitchen area. When the dog finally stopped riling itself up, it retreated back to another long seat against the back wall, watching Hank rummage through his cabinets to grab a couple mugs and some cocoa powder. As much as coffee sounded nice, Hank thought it best not to give any of that to his shaken ‘ancestor’ and knew it could get cold this time of year anyway.  
  
Erik watched every movement with inquisitiveness, still standing in the middle of the room.  
  
When Hank came back to him he settled the mugs on the coffee table and was holding an obnoxious pile of papers in his other arm. He patted the spot next to him, looking up at Erik expectantly.  
  
“Please sit down. I’d like it if you could take a look at these— my notes I’ve been gathering and my schematic for the portal— because it’ll explain everything a lot better than I probably could right now.”  
  
Erik took a hesitant seat, eyeballing the jar (of cocoa powder) and the porcelain mugs.  
  
Hank plopped the papers onto Erik’s lap, beginning to scoop some of the powder into each of their cups, before Beast, once again was on his four legs and circling around the kitchen, whimpering now. The spoon Hank was tapping on the edge of his cup halted, and he dropped his head forward, hanging between his shoulders.  
  
“Uhm... I gotta take care of Beast. He’s gotta use the bathroom. Outside.” An embarrassed scratch to the back of his neck as he stood up, Hank looked between his company.  
  
“Just look over those papers,” Hank snatched his coat and the dog leash off the coat rack, clapping his hand against his thigh to get Beast’s attention. “Oh, and remember not to let anyone in.”  
  
As Hank was hooking the leash to Beast’s collar he paused, biting his lip.  
  
“Especially don’t let Charles in. He’s uh... dangerous? And can be a bit much for even me to handle sometimes, so...” Standing straight and patting Beast’s head absently. “Yes, I’ll be back in a sec!”  
  
Unlocking the door with a quickness that suggested he needed to do this before he lost his nerve to leave Erik alone, Hank was gone, and the apartment was quiet.  
  
And the hot chocolate was still just powder that Erik certainly wasn’t going to drink. Not that he even knew it was supposed to be a drink.  
  
...  
...  
...  
  
  
Hank collected himself for the nth time that morning, taking a few beats to rest his back against the outside of his apartment door while Beast tugged slightly at his leash.  
  
“Yes, Yes, I know. We’re going,” Hank murmured, walking down the hall to the elevators. When he was waiting for the elevator to arrive at his floor an apartment door opened nearby. It was the newest tenant of the building, her name was Ororo Munroe and she was... rather gorgeous. Smart, too, because her title on the mailboxes read ‘Dr.’  
  
He couldn’t help looking over at her as she dropped her recycling bag outside her door, and wow, smiled right at him.  
  
Hank let out a nervous chuckle that came out disgustingly loud, but thankfully, Dr. Munroe took pity on him and laughed too. Beast scampered over in her direction as well, but likely because of whatever was in her trash bag.  
  
“Beast, c’mon. I thought you had somewhere to go,” Hank cleared his throat, feeling heat in his face; Ororo just smiled and gave Beast a quick rub behind the ears before closing her door.  
  
After the door was already closed Hank muttered in that direction, knowing she wouldn’t hear him anyway. She had dyed her hair this unique silver color just a few days ago— that alone showed how much more confidence she had in herself than Hank did, the nervous wreck he could be.  
  
“I like the new hair..!” And his voice died out at the end as he shook his head and walked backwards toward the elevator doors that were just opening now. He gave a light pull to the dog leash, and Beast walked to him slowly.  
  
One step backwards into the elevator and Hank felt his stomach drop down to his feet—  
  
There was no elevator there.  
  
“Shit—!” The curse shot out without permission and Hank felt his entire body fall right into the empty elevator shoot; worry sparked for Beast, who was still connected to him by leash, and Hank would’ve let go of the thing quickly if not for the fact the leash was the only thing keeping him from totally descending downward, as the elevator doors closed on the string.  
  
Thank god Beast was a monster of a dog and was strong enough to hold his weight! And the elevator doors were so tight that the string of the leash seemed to be holding—  
  
Hank was unaware that the pull of gravity had unlatched the leash from Beast altogether, and that said dog was sitting on the other side of the doors, confused and staring at his broken collar in the crack of the steel doors.  
  
And those steel doors were actually, not as reliable as Hank prayed they were, because not a second later the collar squeezed through the cracks due to his weight, and he was falling.  
  
_Again._  
  
But this time it definitely wasn’t a portal to 1876. This was going to hurt.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hanky boy is not dead. I would've put that in the warnings. 
> 
> But alas, there will be nobody to help Erik adapt to the life in modern day New York... except maybe that dangerous fella. I will be following the movie for the most part, but there will be noticeable changes and such, hope you'll stick around till the end, loves!


End file.
